Dreena Terrell Quotes & Sayings

We're the most violent nation on earth. There's no getting away from that. But you've got to look at it on a broader level. — Spike Lee

I like that the skies go nowhere. In the painting. I like that the birds want to get away but they can't. I like the reflection of paint in the dark. — Cath Crowley

I may sink, but I'll be damned if I strike! — John Paul Jones

You always have to be diplomatic with music, with classical, with whatever you do. — David Garrett

The Booker 2011 is of no more interest to me than the world heavyweight championship, which I'm not going to win either. It's irrelevant. — Edward St. Aubyn

You can't make either life or art, you have to work in the hole in between, which is undefined. That's what makes the adventure of painting. — Robert Rauschenberg

Cricket is a most precarious profession; it is called a team game but, in fact, no one is so lonely as a batsman facing a bowler supported by ten fieldsmen and observed by two umpires to ensure that his error does not go unpunished. — John Arlott

Invite people into your life who don't look or act like you. You might find they challenge your assumptions and make you grow. — Mellody Hobson

I took a kind of ex-boyfriend initiative. I guess I wanted to know whether the past was still breathing inside of us. Because inasmuch as I had been irrelevant to their destiny for such a long time, I felt they had become irrelevant to my life for too many years. Unconsciously, something inside me rejected this notion and wanted to make it right. — Michka Assayas

The librarian, whom I had never seen before, presided over the library like a watchdog, one of those poor dogs who are deliberately made vicious by being chained up and given little to eat; ot better, like the old, toothless cobra, pale because of centuries of darkness, who guards the king's treasure in the Jungle Book. Paglietta, poor woman, was little less than a lusus naturae: she was small, without breasts or hips, waxen, wilted, and monstrously myopic; she wore glasses so thick and concave that, looking at her head-on, her eyes, light blue, almost white, seemed very far away, stuck at the back of her cranium. She gave the impression of never having been young, although she was certainly not more than thirty, and of having been born there, in the shadows, in that vague odor of mildew and stale air. — Primo Levi